Chapter 33 – Echoes of Training

The names flickered across the glowing panel above the arena.

SHINO ABURAME vs ZAKU ABUMI

Hinata felt a subtle shift beside her. Shino moved without a word, stepping into the lowering platform with the stillness of a shadow. Kiba watched him go with arms crossed and a small smirk.

"He won't waste time," he murmured.

Hinata nodded. But her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. She knew Shino never rushed—but today, something in his step had sharpened.

Michel hovered behind her shoulder. His threads relaxed, faintly humming. He's calm. Focused. And more precise than ever.

The match began.

Zaku charged forward, blasts of compressed sound tearing through the air. Shino didn't flinch. He sidestepped the first, deflected the second with a barely visible shift in his stance.

Hinata's eyes followed the motion—not just of Shino's body, but of his rhythm.

It was familiar.

Ugoki no rensō (Guidance of Flow). Anticipate. Draw. Redirect.

She had discovered the rhythm of the movement while training—how one step flowed into the next, not with force, but with intent. It had become a natural extension of her body. She later showed it to Shino during group sparring, describing it simply as 'following the flow.' And he had picked it up with quiet precision.

Zaku's attacks grew wild, desperate. His double-arm sonic blast erupted, but Shino's kikaichū swarmed in a delayed arc, latching onto the boy's arms just as they activated. Feedback screamed through his nervous system. Zaku fell to one knee, arms useless.

The match was over.

Shino said nothing as he walked back.

"Nice," Kiba muttered.

Michel offered no words. Just the faint pressure of pride.

<<<< o >>>>

Time passed. Matches came and went.

Then—

KIBA INUZUKA vs NARUTO UZUMAKI

Kiba stretched with exaggerated confidence. "Time to show the idiot what real instincts look like."

Hinata stood.

Michel blinked, surprised. "You're going to him?" He hadn't expected her to find the courage—once, she would never have dared approach Naruto so openly.

She walked—carefully, quietly—toward Naruto and Team 7, who were seated nearby.

Sasuke turned slightly. Sakura looked up.

Hinata bowed her head quickly. "I… I just wanted to say… I hope both of you do well. Naruto… and Kiba."

Naruto grinned. "You can't cheer for both!"

"I can," she said softly. "I won't pick a side. But I hope… you two don't get hurt too badly."

There was silence. Then, unexpectedly, Naruto laughed. "Alright. Then cheer for the fight itself!"

Even Sakura offered a small smile. "That's very Hinata of you."

Hinata returned to her seat, cheeks flushed—but her steps lighter.

As if naming her hope out loud had made it real.

Kiba raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?"

"I'm supporting the team," she replied.

Michel smiled inwardly. No longer just following Naruto. She's choosing how she stands.

<<<< o >>>>

The match began explosively. Kiba and Akamaru moved like a single blur. Naruto ducked, rolled, scrambled. The ferocity of Kiba's taijutsu was immediate—and surprisingly refined.

Michel leaned forward in the air.

He's using wide-angle foot pivots. Maintaining lateral motion. He's learned not to press straight in.

Hinata watched closely.

Kiba used to throw himself forward, she thought. Now he circles. Adjusts. Tracks.

She didn't remember exactly where she had learned it—only that it came to her one day during training, as if her body already understood it. How rhythm could override force. She had mirrored it with her quarterstaff, and Kiba had been watching.

Now he was applying.

But Naruto was unpredictable. Resilient. And clever.

He shifted shape and scattered clones—chaos given form.

Akamaru hesitated. Kiba blinked—just once.

And that was enough.

The final blow came fast. A misdirection. A tackle. Victory.

Naruto stood panting, triumphant. Kiba, groaning, looked more annoyed than injured.

"I had you… until I didn't."

He passed by Hinata on the way back and offered a wink. "At least I made you cheer for someone."

She smiled. "I cheered for both."

Michel's silver threads hummed gently. They've grown.

All of them.

And now, the air shifted.

The next name would come.

And her storm would begin.